


Fear Factor

by GretchenSinister



Series: Blacksand Boxing AU [2]
Category: Rise of the Guardians (2012)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Boxing, Alternate Universe - Human, First Dates, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-23
Updated: 2020-03-23
Packaged: 2021-03-01 05:13:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,542
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23279935
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GretchenSinister/pseuds/GretchenSinister
Summary: Anonymous asked: "#2 with boxer sandy and admirer pitch for the prompt meme?"I answer prompts slowly, but I hope you’re still around to enjoy this, anon.(2 was “date night” in the domestic/intimacy prompts meme)
Relationships: Pitch Black/Sanderson Mansnoozie
Series: Blacksand Boxing AU [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1669453
Kudos: 9
Collections: Blacksand Short Fics





	Fear Factor

**Author's Note:**

> Originally posted on Tumblr on 1/20/2016.

Pitch wanted a cigarette. He wanted three cigarettes, one right after the other. Interesting. He had been doing so well against these cravings for so long, and now, he felt that without some smoke in his lungs, he was going to jump right out of his skin.

But he couldn’t just walk down to the corner store and buy a pack, because if stubbornness was one of his negative traits he was determined to use it for his benefit, and…well. Because the reason he wanted a cigarette so badly was directly tied to the fact that, later in the evening, a certain heavyweight boxer might be in a position to _know_ if he had smoked earlier.

Pitch smoothed back his hair again and shoved another piece of gum into his mouth. He was under no illusions about how pleasant the addition of lingering cigarette taste and smell would be in that situation, namely, not at all to someone who didn’t smoke and thought he didn’t smoke anymore either.

Maybe he wouldn’t like the taste anymore either. But he wanted…he wanted calm, he wanted focus, he wanted a ritual. And he couldn’t go for a long enough run right now. There wasn’t even time to shower again before he had to leave. Before…his _date_. His _date_ with _Sandy_. His _real date_ with _Sandy_.

He forced himself not to adjust his tie again, suspecting that he might tighten it enough to restrict his breathing if he did.

(“You know, anyone can hang out at bars after fights like we’ve been doing,” Sandy said. His tongue flicked out to lick away the foam from the tar-black porter he’d ordered. “Even if this bar sells 95 kinds of beer with names that are mostly puns, and they’re all written on a chalkboard. That doesn’t mean anything. It’s just that kind of town.”

“Sandy, I—I hope you haven’t mistaken me, I mean, when I see you fight, and when I spend time with you, and when…when you winked at me from the ring…”

Sandy’s laugh warmed Pitch more than the flames from the gas heaters pushing November away from the bar’s porch. “North said you wouldn’t see that, that it would be too quick and small a gesture at the distance. But _I_ knew you’d see it. Anyway,” he said, “I don’t think I’ve mistaken you, either. But I hope you haven’t gotten used to running so long you don’t know to head for a finish line when you see it. So, what I’m saying is, let’s go on a date. A nice date. Dinner and all that.” He leaned forward and smirked as Pitch swallowed nervously. “I’ll pick you up and everything.”)

All that. Everything. Did it make him easy, Pitch wondered, that he really hoped those phrases implied not just a casual use of language but a deliberate plan to bend him in half and fuck him with the same kind of power that consistently wore other boxers threadbare? Yes, probably, and perhaps even laughably so. Pitch glanced toward his apartment kitchen and grimaced at the cheery little bag of gourmet coffee there. He had bought it instead of his usual functional brand so that there would actually be good coffee to offer if that was all Sandy wanted when Pitch invited him up for some after they returned from the Crescent Moon.

He had bought both the coffee and some lubricant at the same supermarket. Thank heaven for self-checkout lines.

He chomped on his gum furiously. He should have taken longer getting ready. At this rate he was going to be so wound up by the time Sandy arrived he would be able to do nothing except appear strangely standoffish, or literally jump into his wonderful strong arms. There was no way of accurately predicting his behavior in such a situation.

If he could only have a cigarette, or two, or three, he would know exactly what he would be doing for however long it took to smoke them.

No! No fucking cigarettes! Anyway, now it was finally too late to go to the corner store. If he left, he might not be in his apartment when Sandy arrived, and that would never, never do.

He turned on his TV and paced nervously around while the people on the show whined their way through an entirely straightforward task of eating as many cow eyeballs as possible. What were they complaining about? It wasn’t as though they were being judged on anything but their ability to eat cow eyeballs! The stakes were incredibly low.

There was a knock at the door. Pitch sprang for it, prepared to be extraordinarily rude if the person there was not Sandy.

Luckily for everyone else in the building, the person knocking on the door was Sandy. Sandy looking absolutely wonderful in a gray sport coat over a dark gold shirt. And in his answer to the concept of the tie, a expertly tied ascot in a paisley pattern that took one of its shades from his shirt. “Hey there,” he said. “Not too eccentric for you, is it? I knew I couldn’t compete with your black-on-black, and hey, what do you know, I guessed right—” Sandy trailed off, looking behind Pitch to the television. A man with the tips of his hair bleached blonde bit into an eyeball while tears ran down his orange-ish face and over his lantern jaw. “Um…okay.” Sandy looked back to Pitch. In the pause, a woman on the television screamed theatrically about how gross it was. Pitch thought fondly of a scene in the movie Matilda. “I was going to buy you a steak–I hope this hasn’t put you off.”

“No! I mean, no.” Pitch lunged for the remote and turned off the television, noting before he did that bleached tips had eaten 17 cow eyeballs. Apparently it was the score to beat. Pitch’s gum felt heavy in his mouth. He wished he didn’t know that; he wished he had thought to spit out his gum earlier; he wished Sandy’s first impression of his apartment hadn’t been associated with a gruesome pseudo-game-show. When he turned back to Sandy, he found him looking around the apartment with mild interest. His gaze paused for a moment as he looked over the kitchen, and Pitch froze when he guessed why. The cheery little bag of coffee. It was purposefully rustic, brown paper with curlicues around an old-timey font. There were even flowers in suitably muted pink and yellow printed on the corners. It didn’t fit at all with the rest of Pitch’s sleek, minimalist, “I don’t know how to cook” kitchen style.

Sandy granted Pitch a wicked little lopsided smile. “Were you planning to invite me up for coffee, later?” he asked.

“Yes, of course.” Of course? Of course? Good lord, he had gone for casual and landed in careless and presumptuous. He turned away from Sandy in mortification, heading for the kitchen trash can. This moment was awkward already, he might as well take advantage of it and not ruin some less-awkward moment by spitting out his gum.

He almost missed Sandy saying “of course” in reply as he bent over the trash, and he definitely missed any expression Sandy might have made regarding the current view.

When he turned around, though, Sandy was giving him quite an ordinary, pleasant, smile, and holding out his arm. “Come on, Pitch, I don’t want us to be late.”

When Pitch took his arm, Sandy placed his hand over Pitch’s just for a moment. His skin was very, very warm, and the feeling was nice enough for Pitch to forget to worry about his hand being too cold in comparison. He smiled at Sandy without thinking about what he might look like, and Sandy winked at him—not so obviously as he had from the ring, but still enough to make Pitch’s knees weak. “You know,” said Sandy, “the Crescent Moon really takes advantage of us being near the coast, I’ve heard.” He let go of Pitch’s hand so he could lock his door behind him, sticking his thumbs in the pockets of his coat. “Mainly in that they’ve got really good oysters. Very fresh.” He paused, and held out his arm again, which Pitch took, after picking up his keys from where he had dropped them on the floor, rather than into his pocket, on the first attempt. “Maybe we should get some for appetizers.”

“Oh—yes, let’s try that. I don’t remember the last time I had any that were any good,” Pitch said. Sandy couldn’t have suggested this just on accident, could he? Or was the thing about oysters just an urban myth? And if so, was it one they both knew about? If, if, if—well, regardless. Sandy wanted to share something good with him. And he was the one who had brought up the idea of a real date. And had winked at him. It was a shaky foundation, but…Sandy hadn’t exactly sounded mocking when he had repeated “of course.”

As it turned out, Sandy insisted on only drinking coffee in the morning. He still ended up liking the cheery little brand Pitch had bought, though.

**Author's Note:**

> Comments from Tumblr:
> 
> incurablenecromantic reblogged this from gretchensinister and added: Sat there on the train HOLDING MY BREATH over the coffee being spotted. About died of second hand embarrassment.
> 
> This is a triumph. #oh ho ho baby #oh yeah #this does it for me #god isn't it awful when he's gorgeous and strong and capable and you feel like you might start tearing your books apart #just to have something to smoke? #feeling pitch on a molecular level on this one #poor nervous wreck and boy is he ever right to be #seriously sandy #please #for everyone's sake #hunky heavyweights are an issue #not to say public menace #fiction #the coffee thing laid me low but also bless you pitch and the weird horrible happenstance of your television #this is an ideal initial impression #cow eyeballs and proof positive that you are losing your mind over this #what a catch you certainly are #gee whiz this just hit every button i have and i'm gushing
> 
> gretchensinister reblogged this from gretchensinister: #because I posted this first far too late#get it Pitch#please Sandy have mercy and fuck him already#he's going to become nothing but a frayed beanpole of dithering otherwise
> 
> bowlingforgerbils reblogged this from gretchensinister: #omg pitch you huge dork #i love how he doesn't need to be worried at all about his date but unfortunately doesn't realize it.
> 
> marypsue reblogged this from gretchensinister: #these DORKS#Pitch I can understand you but oh bless#the COFFEE#SANDY you have never been subtle


End file.
